


simply in hindsight

by Introverted_Survivalist



Category: Trolls (Movies 2016 2020), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon), Trolls: TrollsTopia (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a sad ending, F/M, Gen, IT'S ME, Major character death - Freeform, don't kill me for doing this-, please, please recognize me, snap out of it, that sorta shit, you know who i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introverted_Survivalist/pseuds/Introverted_Survivalist
Summary: Zombie Apocalypse AU.“... you sure you’re gonna be alright on your own? There’s a dangerous world outside these walls.”“I know."“... promise me you’ll come back?”“Of course.”
Relationships: Branch & Ivy, Branch/Queen Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	simply in hindsight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DandelionCares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionCares/gifts).



> Gifting this to TheBroppyTrain (IG: @thebroppytrain) because I used her OC, Ivy. 
> 
> Might turn this into a fic! Let me know what you think. :)

Poppy Kingsley held the knife, twisting it in the light from the dying embers of fire as if it could slice up the flames, her expression exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes. Though rust had set in on the handle and blade it was strong and jagged—more than enough.

She could still remember exactly what Branch, whose father used to specialize in weaponry, had told her when he had given it to her, releasing it from its sheath’s hold: _’Now this is the double-edged commando knife, developed in the Second World War by Fairbairn and Sykes. One was a silent killing specialist and the other was a crack shot with the rifle. You'll see it has an eight inch blade with a cross piece and a ribbed center on both sides. It is designed to fit exactly into the palm of your hand. Guns are noisy, and they lack stealth. But the commando knife will do its job instantly and it will never let you down. Use it well.’_ So far, she felt like she was doing a pretty good job of it.

The old warehouse was almost empty, but for them, and a few obsolete pieces of rusted shipping equipment, pieces that seemed perfectly at home within the building's vine-covered walls. The inside looked like something out of a movie, the corrugated walls as rusted and useless as the equipment they housed. Rain dripped down through cracks in the ceiling. But it had still served as their shelter for the past two years—and she was grateful, despite the narrow walls that always seemed to let in the cold.

When the stupid zombie virus broke out, she thought they could have won, but the financiers got to bickering and simple steps to save lives were missed. If they'd picked love and humanity over money, the outcome would have looked so much better.

And now, all the once green lands of the earth were no more than ash and charcoal. The air was heavy with the smell of burnt flesh and smoke hung in a haze that partially obscured the blood-red sun. The cities stood like skeletons, barren wastelands. Even oceans stood still like semi-stagnant pools of death and decay, there were no waves as even the wind had left the earth. The virus had managed to affect more than they thought, and it was clear the moment they had stepped outside after being cooped inside of a bayside convenience store they had been staying at for the first two weeks of the apocalypse.

That, precisely, had been the moment they had met Branch and Ivy, who, at the time, had both been focusing on trying to take down a horde of walkers all on their own with a single dagger and a pistol for each of them. Thank goodness that they had been there to help, because Poppy was sure that, despite how good they were with a gun, they would have died if they hadn’t been with them at the time. And she was glad they were all still alive.

She wasn’t alone in that warehouse, that was for sure—in the corner sat Barbara Beckett, who preferred Barb, cross-legged on a pile of old tires used for simple cushioning while playing a game of poker with a pack of old cards, her opponent being Vallory Thundershock, or as they called her, Val. 

Not too far away was Gavin Diamond, whom they called Guy for short, focusing on staying warm and at the same time, desperately trying to clean the blood and grime off the bottom of his left boot with a rusty screwdriver. Beside him was Ivy Vadas, who actually seemed to be doing something practical: sitting beside a stack of unopened water bottles, marking their daily intake on the surface with a black marker, tongue sticking out of the corner of her lips as she focused. 

And then there was Branch Woods, their official leader, sitting away from the fire in the darkest part of the warehouse, beside a bag full of canned and dry food, counting rations silently, mouthing his numbers—without a doubt, doing it all in his mental arithmetic. 

It had been about a year since the start of their relationship. At first, it had just been her, Barb, Val, and Guy, having their Rocky Roads at the ice cream parlor downtown near the coastline—Poppy remembered being completely engrossed in the news on the tiny TV attached to the wall, silently cursing the government inside her head. And then things went to shit, it was all a blur, really. A lot of screams, blood, and crying which still made her shudder simply at the thought. And then they found themselves locked inside a convenience store, shutters down and all of them utterly confused and terrified to death, desperately trying to get signal to contact their families. None of them had succeeded.

The first few days after they had helped Branch and Ivy with their horde attack using the shotguns they had found underneath the counter, the latter had been willing to work together—however, Branch hadn’t. He had told them he hadn’t needed their help, that he preferred working alone, and that he wasn’t willing to trust a bunch of strangers out on the streets. It took a lot of persuading, and a quick argument with Ivy, but eventually, he became a part of them. And hair, was Poppy grateful.

If anyone first took a look at Branch and Ivy, they would have, without a doubt, thought they were siblings—their skin and hair colors were fairly similar, and they both carried the sass. Turned out they were just the bestest of childhood friends, and had happened to have been watching a marathon of _The Walking Dead_ at Branch’s.

Everything had started off very, very slow, mostly because Branch Woods was a very tough shell to crack. He was like a chemical buffer, staying in equilibrium seemingly without effort. In all the storms of life, big and small, he showed absolute stability, no change at all for the casual observer. But then all at once he would be overwhelmed and the shutters would come down, a side of him he barely showed to anybody.

But Poppy managed to get him to open up, even laugh a couple times. And although he acted all cold and grumpy when he wasn’t feeling up to it, there would be occasional flirts thrown back and forth between them, which Barb and Val absolutely despised. And then there had been that one night where they had been camping out in that log cabin out in the mountains in search for a possible refuge. Branch had grudgingly agreed to share a bedroom with her—and things had grown a lot hotter. She remembered a lot of touching, gasping and suppressed moaning… and the next day, after they awoke with arms and legs everywhere, they had made both of their feelings for each other rather clear. That was where it all started.

Branch was… special. He would feel the shockwave and stay on his feet. Whatever he had to do would disappear and he would refocus on what needed to be done. He would cover every angle and stay right there until you could breathe, walk and talk at the same time. Once the storm had passed his tolerance for backward steps was all but non-existent. His shoulder was only for crying on when you couldn’t stand alone, after that he expected you to build inner strength, resilience. But there would be times when he’d keep to himself, and Poppy was trying her best to help.

And as for Ivy Vadas, she was quiet, but not out of painful shyness. It was a reservedness, like a conscious choice to observe the lie of the land before she got involved. Yet she wasn't stand-offish, she remained friendly-faced and welcoming in body posture. It wasn't like she sat down one day and planned to be like that, it's just the way she was, according to Branch himself. She didn’t seem like the type to go out and deliberately make a friend, more like they just came to her. There was nothing threatening about her, nothing at all. She was an easy listener, a good audience, giving encouraging feedback laced with intelligent comments. There were the occasional sassy comebacks if someone said something stupid once in a while. But overall, she worked hard, she got her work done, and Poppy had decided she liked her almost at once.

Val, one of Poppy’s best and newest friends, was there like a shadow until you needed her. Then suddenly she was unavailable. Her ready smirk was only for those who gave freely and didn't require any help in return. Once their personal crisis was over, she'd re-emerge from the background and re-insert herself into the group, cracking the jokes that never failed to lighten the mood. She knew the dirt on everyone, including Branch and Ivy, and if you weren't her buddy she'd be free with that information to whoever her new friends were. With her or against her, it was how it was.

Barb was a little different. She had always been a hurricane, it seemed; from the time of her birth until she left home, she was the eye of her own storm. Mostly she was happy as a child (as Poppy remembered), but her efforts to engage everyone in banter, in games or rough play made some people frazzled. As a teen she was the life of every party. Invitations came as thick as November rain, giving her dad a respite until she came home in the small hours of the morning, drunk and singing. Her apartment was every bit as chaotic as everyone thought it would be, no better than if a tornado had passed through. But to her surprise she never seemed to care. Maybe it was because her own home had been more tranquil that it had been those past twenty years. But she always had your back in everything no matter what, and she wasn’t afraid to throw a punch at someone who had made you upset.

And as for Guy, he was the loudest voice in the room wherever he was. His conversations were buoyant and intended to be heard. There was something of the unsatisfied thespian in him. On every subject he was opinionated and if you didn't agree with him, he wasn't angry, simply pitied you for not understanding the ‘correct’ way to think about it. Other than that, he was a fun person to be around, an idea firework, you never knew what would happen next. Every time they met Poppy was swept along, like a princess in a carriage. They’d part, laughing, joking, giggling about his funny antics.

Even though things had been shit for two years, they never seemed to change anyone’s personality—and again, Poppy had to remind herself how lucky she was to be surrounded by such great people in such dark times.

A familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and what they said was rather dreadful.

“We won’t have enough rations to last the winter—someone has to go out.”

All actions ceased the very second those words left Branch’s lips, and snapping her heads to see their leader dragging the bag of rations and leaving them next to the fireplace. His head hung low, as if regretting what he had just said… but what choice did he have?

“... I’ll go.” Guy’s voice echoed through the empty warehouse, words softly spoken but carrying the effects of a whip. Everyone visibly flinched—Barb scowled.

“None of you are going.” Branch snapped, looking around to take a careful look at everyone’s faces. “... _I_ am.”

“Woah, told it right there.” Barb, unable to tolerate the situation, pushed herself to her feet and walked forward towards the small circle near the dying embers of fire. “Why don’t we get a fucking choice, who made _you_ the master of decisions?” She pointed a finger at his chest accusingly, yet his rigid expression did not waver. “Who gave _you_ the power to decide who gets to die or not?”

“I get that you disagree with me.” He simply said, his voice surprisingly another level of calm. “But as the leader of this small… group,” Branch blinked once. “... it’s my responsibility to make sure everyone makes it out alive, out of this shitty dystopian movie.” He shook his head. “... There’s a society, or a safe haven, being rebuilt out there somewhere, I just know it. I just want to get all of you there to safety.”

“We’re not a bunch of fucking kids in a school bus, happily on our way to a field trip, Branch.” Barb snapped back. “We don’t need you to toss yourself off a cliff, or run straight into a horde of nasty walkers just to save our butts. It’s stupid.”

“Did I ever say that?” His cold glare, for once, made Barb momentarily shut up. He returned his gaze to the rest of the group. “There’s a Target located about one and a half miles away from here, I plan to leave first thing tomorrow afternoon. On foot.”

“We have a truck.” Val pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure it still has gas. I don’t see why we can’t just use that.”

“From what I’ve seen through patrol for the past few days, this area is scattered, although in small numbers, with individual walkers and hordes.” Branch replied. “Use the van, we lack stealth, we’ll have walkers chasing us in seconds. You know how fast those motherfuckers run. On foot, we lack speed, and it will take a few days, but… it’s safer.”

“Safer?” Barb scoffed. “You call walking exposed in a crowd of walkers, without anyone at your side to help, _safer?_ Why, you’re dumber than you look.”

“Barb.” Poppy spoke out. She clenched her fists tightly, until her nails dug into the palm of her hand, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was really aware of, was the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest.

“I just want to protect all of you.”

“Protect? Tell me: what’s gonna happen if you die? How can you guarantee you won’t come back as a walker yourself? What, you’re gonna leave us here, let us drop like flies and starve to death? Rip us apart? Make us into one of _them?_ ” Barb jabbed her finger towards the walls of the warehouse, apparently pointing towards the outside. “If you die, we die, and we need to do this as a goddamn team. This isn’t just some solo mission someone assigned you to do!”

A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his mouth forming a rigid grimace. With arms folded tightly across his broad chest, he tapped his foot furiously and all the while stared out of the grimy window.

“So? Are we in this together or not?”

“... you’re not gonna change my mind, Barb.”

“Oh my fucking god, can you _please_ , for _once_ , stop trying to play the _fucking hero—_ ”

_“I’m not trying to play the hero!”_ Branch growled, turning on Barb like an enraged tiger. He ran his hand through his hair twice in quick succession and fixed her in a stare that could have frozen the Pacific. 

“Barb.” Val got to her feet. “Barb, enough.”

“You’re signing up for a fucking suicide mission, you prick. At least let someone go with you so they can save your ass.”

“I’m not bringing any of you with me.” He snapped. 

“Branch.” Ivy, who had been quiet as a shadow throughout the whole conversation, spoke up. “... she’s right. We can’t let you go alone.”

“This is an order.” He said, almost wearily. “You know I can’t risk it. Having more than one person out there will kill us all.”

“How do you plan to drag all of your rations here, huh? Have you even thought about that at all?” Barb accused, and nobody stopped her.

“I have, so don’t worry.” He snapped. “End of discussion, Barb.”

“Fuck you.” She growled before turning her back on him and storming away—Val immediately went after her, calling her name.

A heavy silence settled over them, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching other glances that passed by. 

“Well, that was stupid.” Ivy eventually said, breaking the long silence. The fire was almost gone, and Guy, without a word, immediately got to work as he grabbed the box of matches. 

“Branch.” Poppy finally managed to find her voice, and hated how it sounded broken and cracked.

Pacing up and down as if determined to wear out a thin trail in the cement, Branch stared down at his own bandaged feet, heavily wrapped for protection. His eyes were narrow and as he paced he constantly punched one hand into the other. “... trucks lack stealth. Less people, less chance to be seen, and less items to carry on the way.” He finally stopped and looked at the remaining three. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go get some rest, all of you.”

Ivy simply stared back at Branch with the blankest look on her face before slowly stumbling to her feet. “This conversation, it isn’t over.” She said quietly before stalking away, her form growing darker as the shadows engulfed her body completely.

Guy soon left in search of more matches from their supply bags, and Poppy was left sitting on that broken barrel facing the fire, looking back at Branch, her lover. She wanted to tell him not to go, and she hated that he had to be stubborn and selfless. 

He eventually sat down beside her with a soft ‘thump’, reaching into his hair and pulling out rolls of bandages and duct tape. He set them a distance away from the fire and using his teeth to rip the strips of cloth, began wrapping the bandages around his left forearm. Poppy knew they were to defend himself against bites, it was a tactic they all used. Of course, Branch had been the mastermind to come up with such an idea—duct tape was almost impenetrable against teeth.

Poppy could tell he had a reason to come sit down beside her: either he wanted company, her support on his decision, or simply comfort. So she carefully wrapped an arm around his waist, gently pulling—and he reacted by leaning to the side from his upright position to rest against her shoulder.

He finally finished with the bandages and wrapped the duct tape tightly around his arms, teeth gritted in effort. It almost seemed as if he was putting too much pressure onto it, and slightly concerned that the tape would cut off his circulation, Poppy gave his arm a gentle squeeze. In return, he visibly slackened, expression still unwavering.

“... I could go with you.” She offered quietly. “You know I’m good with walkers.”

“This one’s my job, Poppy.” He replied. “I can’t take you—especially you.”

“You don’t want me to be with you each step of the way?”

“... it’s not that.” He said with a heavy exhale, setting the duct tape down and grabbing hold of his bandaged forearm to see how stiff the barrier was. “... I just can’t take you.”

“Because you’re afraid you’ll lose me?”

With hands clasped tightly in front of his stomach he constantly fiddled with his knuckles, weaving his fingers in and out of each other. “... afraid that you’ll… you’ll _change_. That if you do, I’m going to have to be the one to pull the trigger on you.” He looked away. “And vice versa. Afraid if you’ll be ready to kill me before I hurt you too. The same thing applies to everyone.” He stared down at his scraped, gloved palms, and his hands seemed to tremble. “... I never wanted to kill her, Poppy. I really didn’t.”

Poppy had been told, secretly by Branch, on that very day the government was announced fallen, and on that very day, the so-called apocalypse had begun, that he had killed his own grandma. He and Ivy had both been in a hurry, finding the house rifles and shotguns and combat knives his father used to keep stored in the attic, and Branch had gone to alert his grandma, who was outside in the garden planting petunias, that they had to leave. That they had to leave, or else they’d die. When he saw his own grandma staggering like an undead corpse towards him with terrifying speed, he panicked—without thinking, used the shotgun to put a bullet in her forehead before rushing upstairs to drag Ivy out of the house with him. He said he couldn’t bear to look at what he had done, but the shock had somehow managed to get him to keep going.

“I know.” She said softly. 

His eyes shifted to the side again and became glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As he blinked, they dripped from his eyelids and slid down his cheeks. He bit her lip tightly in an attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from his mouth; Poppy’s heart sank.

“I just can’t… _repeat what I did_ , and hurt you guys. I can’t hurt _you.”_

She really didn’t have anything to say against his idea. There was absolutely zero guarantee that Branch would come back unhurt, much less alive. But then again, what he dreaded was plenty possible if someone _did_ go along with him, and she had to understand. Forcing it just seemed… cruel.

“... I don’t want to lose you either.” The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face. She could feel the muscles of her chin tremble like a small child and she looked towards the window, as if the moonlight could soothe her. “I love you.”

“... Isn’t it funny, that if I had made a different decision I wouldn’t be here now?” He said softly. “If I had chosen a different path, my fate would have been written in different ink. Because if I was sat here in, maybe a different universe, without you by my side... I wouldn’t complete.”

“... are you sure this is what you want?”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if wondering if this was all worth it. If he didn’t survive, this would be the last time he’d ever be with Poppy. But if he _did_...

“... yeah.”

___________________________________

The very next day, he stood in front of the closed doors of the warehouse, going through his supplies. The orange gold of the setting sun stretched far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines. It was but the reflection of the dawn, the promise of the rising sun that came after the velvety night had had its say and the land has rested once more.

Ivy, standing in her worn combat boots, watching him as she leaned against the bumpy, metal insides of the warehouse, shakily exhaled. “... you sure you’re gonna be alright on your own? There’s a dangerous world outside these walls.”

“I know.”

“... promise me you’ll come back?”

“Of course.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he briefly stood upright to playfully roll his eyes at her. “Since when have I ever broken a promise?”

“Touché. Let’s just hope it won’t be the first time you do it.”

The silence that took place afterwards was somehow comforting and spoke for itself, it was peaceful in a way where they could feel at home and know that no matter what was happening, they were forever there for each other.

“How’s Barb?”

“She’s… angry.” Ivy said. “She thinks you’re being irrational. She wants all of us to go with you. But, you know her.” She shook her head with a small smile. “She’ll come around. Can’t say I disagree with her, though.”

“... Ivy, I’m putting you in charge until I get back.” He didn’t know how long that would be; a few days, weeks, possibly forever. Fortunately, she seemed to get the message pretty clear. 

“I wish you’d understand how much the others and I need you.” She said quietly. “Honestly, I’m willing to go for you instead. What about Poppy?”

“She understands.” He finally looked up at her, an unreadable expression painted across his face like artwork. “... I wish you guys did, too.”

“... See you when ya get back.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“Branch?”

“Hm?”

“If you die I’ll kill you.”

“You can’t kill someone twice.”

“Anything is possible with willpower.”

“And so is staying alive.”

And then he was gone. Sort of like a gust of a wind, a passing car by your neighborhood window. Something you maybe saw once but would never see twice again.

Maybe things were just like that. It _was_ the apocalypse, after all.

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Note:**

> Planning to turn this into a multiple-chapter fanfic, not sure how long. No, I might not kill Branch, but at the same time, I might. We'll see. I don't know if y'all like zombie apocaylpse aus as much as I do, lol.
> 
> and yes, the ending sucks. there's gonna be multiple endings to this, btw. :P


End file.
